“I’m leaving first.”
Yu Huaiting looked down at Fu Songcheng from above. “Don’t look me up for instances anymore. We’re not suited.”
“Fu Songcheng” stood at the center of the rest area, and at those words, his body jolted violently.
“You’re leaving?” His voice carried disbelief, as if he thought himself deceived. “Not teaming up with me?”
Yu Huaiting raised an eyebrow, looking at him coldly. “Haven’t I made it clear enough? You’re too much in the way. With you along, I can’t even swing my blade freely.”
“How could this be? How could it be like this… this isn’t right.”
“Fu Songcheng” took a step forward, his chest heaving violently. Looking at Yu Huaiting’s cold, handsome face, shock and humiliation flushed him red.
He slowly pulled Yu Huaiting’s Sympathy Doll from his system space.
“Yu Huaiting, have you forgotten the relationship between us?”
“Fu Songcheng” raised the doll, his fingers lightly stroking its neck, his gaze turning dangerous and obsessive. “I’m your bound lover. As long as I stroke this doll, you’ll feel it, you’ll be affected. If you chase me away now, I can’t guarantee what I’ll do to this doll when I’m bored alone.”
Yu Huaiting looked at the doll, then at the man standing before him making the threat, and suddenly found it utterly laughable.
“Threatening me?”
Yu Huaiting slowly stood up and walked step by step up to “Fu Songcheng.”
He was half a head taller than the other; now he looked down at him from above, his eyes full of oppressive force.
“You can try.” Yu Huaiting’s voice was extremely soft, yet carried bone-piercing chill. “I’m not afraid to die together with you.”
Give me liberty, or give me death.
“Fu Songcheng” staggered back half a step, stung by the killing intent in his eyes, but he seemed unwilling to end it like this.
Quan Heng didn’t understand—he’d used Fu Songcheng’s appearance and bound the lover relationship with Yu Huaiting, so why did Yu Huaiting have not a shred of attachment toward him?
He remembered at this point, Yu Huaiting would clearly have invited Fu Songcheng to go drinking together.
Intense frustration and unwillingness clouded his mind.
“Fu Songcheng” suddenly turned vicious. He dropped the doll and grabbed Yu Huaiting’s collar with both hands, yanking the other hard toward himself.
He closed his eyes, tilted his head up, and recklessly pressed his lips toward Yu Huaiting’s.
But the kiss didn’t land.
A second before their lips could touch, Yu Huaiting caught “Fu Songcheng” by the shoulder with one hand, then, like tossing trash, pushed him away mercilessly.
Bang!
“Fu Songcheng” crashed heavily onto the rest room’s hard floor, his back hitting the cold wall with a pained grunt.
Yu Huaiting, as if he couldn’t feel the shared pain, stood in place and wiped his chin hard with the back of his hand where “Fu Songcheng’s” breath had brushed.
Looking at the man fallen on the ground, eyes shocked and bedraggled, the disgust in Yu Huaiting’s eyes had grown to its extreme.
The “Fu Songcheng” before him—whether in ability, personality, or this laughable way of doing things—radiated an incongruity that disgusted him utterly.
“Courting death?”
Yu Huaiting looked at him coldly, as if at a worthless dead thing.
He turned and walked to the door, his hand on the handle, and turned his head to leave a final, utterly warmthless sentence.
“Count it as my misjudgment, entering an instance with you. Touch that doll again next time, and I’ll hack you to death.”
The door slammed shut with a dull sound.
Yu Huaiting had thoroughly lost the last shred of interest in this cowardly “lover” who tried to threaten him with despicable means.
[Holy crap, which episode is this?]
[Can someone explain? I was still watching Little Fish and Songcheng-gege’s first meeting—how did we get back to this time?]
[Second bloom, but the mentally deranged version.]
[Doesn’t anyone else feel this Fu Songcheng is weird?]
In the empty rest room, the “Fu Songcheng” pushed down by Yu Huaiting slowly got up.
He raised his hand and called up the encrypted channel to Source Star outside the game.
“Secretary, rewind. Start over.”
His voice had changed—carrying the cold hardness of someone in power, without Fu Songcheng’s gentleness and composure.
Static crackled over the communicator.
Then the signal was forcibly cut in, and a female voice carrying a hint of teasing and mockery came through.
“How was it?”
Shen Ning’s voice sounded on the channel. “I let you into the instance, gave you the chance to clear with Yu Huaiting—did you get the result you wanted?”
Having been exposed, Quan Heng’s face sank. He gritted his teeth. “There must be a problem somewhere. Again.”
Shen Ning sneered on the other end of the communicator, her tone full of undisguised mockery. “Still not convinced? Since it was I who proposed letting you into the instance to team up with him, I’m not afraid of you—play until you’re satisfied.”
“I understand him better than Fu Songcheng.”
Quan Heng retorted unwillingly. “Just now it was only that the attributes were too low to keep up with his rhythm. Have the technicians boost Fu Songcheng’s attribute panel—max out Agility and Strength. I’ll fight alongside him with a higher attribute panel. As long as I can match his combat intensity, I can build trust.”
Shen Ning scoffed on the other end, watching a doomed farce with amusement.
“Fine. Since President Quan insists on ramming the wall, I’ll indulge you. Reset.”
As Shen Ning’s voice fell, the rest room before Quan Heng collapsed like shattered glass.
This false dream space began to crack and reset.
At the same time, the real Fu Songcheng, trapped in the deep memory dream, felt the restraints around him suddenly loosen.
The moment he’d pressed his hand on his own shoulder in the dream, the surrounding bland years collapsed with it.
The instant his consciousness floated upward, Fu Songcheng briefly opened his eyes.
His vision was somewhat blurry, but he clearly saw the outline of the elevator compartment.
He saw Yu Huaiting with his head lowered, a small knife in his hand, its blade stained with blood, dripping down along Fu Songcheng’s slender knuckles.
Yu Huaiting’s brows were tightly knitted, a rare agitation in his eyes.
And behind Yu Huaiting stood a youth in red clothes.
“Yu…”
Fu Songcheng recited the name in his heart, but before his voice could come out, a massive pulling force suddenly surged from deep within his spirit.
The scene before his eyes jolted violently.
After the weightlessness faded, Fu Songcheng found himself standing steadily before an entire wall of massive floor-to-ceiling windows.
This wasn’t the game’s system space, nor the real world he knew.
“President Quan, here is the project proposal for the identity system update you requested, and—are you really going to project into Death Party to interfere with Mr. Yu Huaiting and Mr. Fu Songcheng?”
A secretary in a professional suit stood respectfully behind him, head slightly bowed, reporting.
Fu Songcheng didn’t move.
He unobtrusively lowered his eyes, glanced at his own hands, and through the floor-to-ceiling window’s reflection made out his current appearance—
He wore an extremely well-tailored dark black haute couture suit, his face cold and stern, his brows and eyes carrying the sharpness of someone long in power.
This wasn’t his body.
Fu Songcheng quickly looked around. The office was astonishingly large, several holographic projection screens floating in midair, complex data streams and surveillance feeds jumping across them.
This kind of virtual projection technology, far beyond the tech level of his own world, also clearly reminded Fu Songcheng:
This wasn’t his world.
Hold still for now, see what the situation is.
“It’s fine. You’re dismissed for now.”
Fu Songcheng quickly suppressed the doubts in his heart, calmly took the proposal from the secretary’s hand, dismissed her, and turned his gaze to the largest holographic screen at the center of the office.
On the screen, the image was clear.
The scene had returned to Yu Huaiting’s uninvited visit.
In the projection, Yu Huaiting was slowly walking up to “Fu Songcheng,” looking down at him.
“I was actually thinking about whether I should go collect your corpse from the instance,”
Yu Huaiting’s tone carried his usual arrogance and flippancy. “But since you’re this capable—perfect timing.”
“I have one day left before my next instance,”
Yu Huaiting paused, his gaze fixed tight on the person before him. “You coming with me?”
Outside the screen, the real Fu Songcheng watched this scene quietly.
At a glance, he distinguished that the person in the screen was not himself.
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